Chosen to Lead
by Nic-Bar
Summary: COMPLETE! Prequel to Someone to Hold, Arelenne has known Arthur for seven years and believes him to be a coward, but when Arthur and Arelenne place a tempting but friendly wager, can Arelenne resist the prize?
1. In the Beginning

((DICLAIMER: None of these characters belong to me (except Arelenne), though I wish Arthur did!)) 

Artorius Castus was a lad who believed in God. He believed in Rome, in

equality, and Justice above all.

He had been assigned a band of striplings when he was no more than a

stripling himself, perhaps but a few seasons older than the oldest of

them. He did not know them and yet he was made to lead them, his

only advantages that which his commanders had seen fit to teach.

It was his father's blood that gave him rank, his father's legacy that

woke Rome to give him this chance.

Today he would meet his knights for the first time, his first look at

the men he would be spending the next fifteen years of his life

commanding. Arthur set his jaw as he slid Excalibur in its sheathe.

He would make his father proud.

Arelenne was twelve years old and thought she knew everything. She was

good with his sword-- perhaps more so than even the older lads beside

her-- and she knew this fact well.

"Your commander is coming today," said one of the soldiers who watched

over them. "He is to be your captain for the next fifteen years; take

care what you say to him."

Bors, one of the larger boys, snorted. "Respect is earned, not given,"

he said. "I say he proves his worth before we're made to bow and scrape

before him."

The soldier shook his head. "He commands even I," he said. "In Rome,

what matters is the rank you are given. His word is law, and you must

follow-- if you have complaints, make them in fifteen years."

"Or in three days," Lancelot called from the back, brandishing his

sword in a mock salute.

The soldier frowned. "What happens in three days?"

Arelenne grinned unpleasantly, meeting his gaze head on. "Three days

til he runs back to Rome with his tail between his legs," she said. "Or

three days til he perishes on the plains of Briton. No Roman has dared

venture far from this camp, nor has any dared to cross the gates.'

'I would wager against all of you," Lancelot continued for Arelenne. "that our commander shall be gone in three days time-- whether of his own accord or by the Woads' blades."

Bors slammed a meaty fist onto their small table, grinning broadly. "I

shall take that wager, though in Lancelot's favor," he said. "Let them

send their commanders forth; we shall be ruled by no Roman."

The rest of the boys nodded in assent, and the soldier frowned darkly.

"Such talk is treason," he growled. "He could have your lives in an

instant if he heard you!"

Arelenne laughed, brushing blonde hair from her delicate green eyes . "Not to mention the fact that no one wishes to give odds in his favor," she said. "Will not even you wager on your precious Artorius? I've known him for seven seasons, he's a bloddy coward."

"I shall wager on your Captain," came a quiet voice from the shadowed

door, and all the tawny heads turned to look.

The man who stood there looked barely older than they, shrouded as he

was in the half-light. His face was shaven and his dark curls pulled

back with a band, a small smile playing upon his lips.

It was Lancelot, of course, who found his voice first. "And who the

bloody hell are you?" he asked.

"Artorius Castus, servant of Rome," said the man, striding forth into

the light. He was a tall man, his chest encased in plated armor and a

jeweled sword hanging at his side. His face, however, belied his age;

his features still belonged to that of a youth.

At the casual admission, all knights save for Arelenne dropped their

eyes to the floor. It was one thing to wager behind your commander's

back but another thing entirely to face him while you did it.

Arelenne was no less fazed, but she would be damned if she let this Roman see it. She ignored the pounding of her heart and, taking her life into her hands, sketched a sarcastic bow. "The famed commander at last," he said. "I shall be glad to take your wager, sir-- how many copper pieces would you like to put up?"

Arthur smiled. "I shall gamble my month's wages in my name," he

answered. "Twenty gold pieces for your noble cause."

The insult was taken none-too-lightly, and Arelenne's full top lip curled. Galahad casually stepped on her foot, ascertaining the knight would not leap upon Arthur in a fit of pique.

"We have no such wages, my lord," Arelenne replied, swallowing her

anger. "As I am sure you well know-- all our coppers combined would not

even cover half of yours."

Arthur shrugged. "I do not want your money," he replied. "I shall

gamble my pieces against a mere service from you."

"And what service might that be?" Arelenne asked suspiciously. "You forget, Arthur, we are not stable hands to be made to wait at your feet, nor are we skilled in aught but fighting."

Arthur smiled in response. "Your loyal service as my knights for

fifteen years," he said. "That is a fair wager, is it not?"

There was an uneasy ripple through them, and the soldier at back

shook his head. It appeared that Arthur's reputation was well-earned

indeed.

Arelenne lifted her sculpted chin. "We accept your wager, Arthur," she said. "And we shall see your gold in three day's time."

"For my part, I shall see you tonight at dusk," replied Arthur. "As of

now I am still your captain-- whether you are loyal or no-- and I

expect you all to fulfill your duties."

He bowed slightly at the waist, his dark eyes gleaming amused for but a

second, and then he was vanished again through the doorway.


	2. Nightly rounds

At dusk Arthur eyed the twenty four youths standing before him, nodding with satisfaction. They had dressed to ride, wearing their armor and weapons as though they were born to wield them. And so they had, Arthur remembered, recalling dread accounts of the Sarmatian armies of old.

"I have walked the villages we protect during the daytime," Arthur said. "With our soldiers guarding the people, our forest enemies do not attack."

He whistled to his horse, a great white stead, and swung a leg across its back. "Tonight we ride to the village of Eorland," he said. "It is not far from here, and we shall guard its streets til the break of day."

The knights looked at each other in confusion but nonetheless went to their horses. Did he think they had no night sentries for that? There were common soldiers enough for the task he had outlined surely their legendary skills could be put to better use.

"My lord?" and it was Percival who spoke, seeming lost in his armor and helm.

Arthur turned to him, smiling kindly when he saw who it was. "What is it?" he asked gently, for Percival was among the youngest of them and looked frightened of his own shadow.

"The barracks has soldiers posted at every village, my lord," he said. "Even at night."

"I am aware of that, Percival," said Arthur. "But it is not the Woads I seek to repel tonight. If you would but follow me, knights of Sarmatia, I would show you that which you are blind to."

And so he lead them out into the night, their horses trotting quickly across the plains. Eventually they paced into a canter, and it was not long before the small wooden gates of Eorland came into view.

"Who goes there?" called a sentry from the wall, and Arthur raised his sword.

"Artorius Castus and his knights," he called. "Open the gates."

The soldier signaled to another out of sight, and the gates opened to admit them. They were not overly large doors, and Arthur fancied he could simply take his stead and bolt over them if he wished. Formality had to be stood on however, and so he waded patiently through their pleasantries.

"What brings you to the village at this time, my lord?" asked the guard, watching keenly as they dismounted.

Arthur smiled. "Nightly rounds," he said. "It's a new policy in Rome all the rage now."

"Ah, very good sir," nodded the guard, turning to a stable boy who hovered close by. "Erik, take their horses to the stables."

The boy nodded and came forth to take the reigns from Arthur's hands, and he nodded to his knights. "They are thirsty this eve," he said. "Might we know where the tavern can be found?"

Understanding dawned in the guard's eyes and he smiled shrewdly. "Down the street to your left," he said. "Their ale is cheap… and other forms of company as well."

Arthur inclined his head and set off, walking down the dirt path at a leisurely pace. The knights followed behind him quietly, trying to guess at his purpose.

"So he takes us out whoring and drinking on his first night?" Bors muttered from the back. "I like him already."

Galahad snickered behind his hand and Arelenne rolled her eyes.

"If he passes out from drink we can roll him in a ditch and be rid of him," she said. "Then we can say that Woads killed him."

Percival looked fairly ill at the idea, and he grabbed Tristan by the forearm. "They shan't do that, will they?" he asked.

Tristan pursed his lips. "Well, perhaps Arelenne and Lancelot might," he said thoughtfully. "Though I think Dagonet would stop him first."

They chanced a look behind them at the tall lad more a man than a boy, really and Percival nodded. He was imposing and brooding and dark, and he looked fit to stop the duo of trouble (Arelenne and Lancelot) from committing such an atrocity.

"Nothing to worry about," Tristan said solemnly, and Percival nodded.

Then there was a noise up ahead, and they turned to see Arthur standing quite still in the middle of the road. Gawain had walked right into his back, and their armor clanging together had created the startling sound.

"What is it?" Tristan asked, striding forward.

Arthur set his jaw, pointing to a scene not quite hidden behind a canopy of trees. The tavern loomed ahead of them invitingly, but he had heard strange sounds and turned to see firelight burning from some distance away. They could hear curses and shouting, and amidst all of that a cry of pain and fear.

"I see nothing but shadows," said Galahad. "A dance, perhaps?"

"I have seen no dance that causes such cries," Arthur replied, straying from the path to the alehouse. "I desire to see what mischief lies ahead those of you who wish to go to the tavern may continue on. I will follow soon enough."

Their interest piqued, no knight left his side. They had not been long in Briton, and as such knew little enough of Roman and native customs. They rode across the plains and fought the Woads they did not interact with the villagers they protected.

Arthur, for his part, wasted no time in pushing forward into the shadowed crowd. They stood around a fire and were loathe to part for him, but when they saw his armor they did not resist.

The knight stopped dead when he saw what they had circled against, and he drew Excalibur nigh. "What is this?" he demanded of a man nearby. "Why have you hurt this man so?"

For it was indeed a man that cowered by the fire, a dozen wounds on his beaten flesh. There were rocks and refuse thrown about him, rotten fruits scattered about his feet.

"Answer me," he snarled, and the villagers stepped back in fear.

"Are you blind?" one said indignantly. "He is a Woad our enemy. We caught him spying and now he deserves to be put to death!"

Arthur turned to look at the cowering man with new eyes, and upon closer inspection saw that his blue markings were already faded with blood and dirt. Unexpected fury welled within him, his memory taking him back to a place of fire and ash where his mother desperately called his name.

He had come here to free the man and yet now faced with the actual sight of him, the sound and smell of him, Arthur found his resolve wavering.

Pelagius, he thought, reminding himself of the man's wisdom. Remember what you fight for. He shook himself of the thought and stood in indecision, the tempting call of vengeance swaying him.

"My lord, it is the common way," came Percival's voice from his side. "Do they not also keep prisoners in Rome?"

Arthur's mouth set in a grim line as he let the knight pull him away. He did not make the choice, he reasoned; it had been made for him.

The villager turned away from him and back to the chained Woad, letting loose a stream of curses.

Likewise did the other knights withdraw from the circle of villagers, and they did not speak as they made their way back to the road.


	3. A captain releasing an enemy of Rome

Arelenne watched the flicker of emotion running through the captain's face, incredulous that a Roman would think twice about leaving a Woad to die. For her part, the young knight knew of blood and death and was well accustomed to its practices. It was neither good nor bad, it was just the way things were.

"If our captain has no stomach for even the most common of retaliation, how can we expect him to lead us to battle?" she said in a loud whisper to Gawain.

Arthur's back stiffened as the words carried to him, and he turned back to stand before the young knight. "Any man who would leave another to pain is no knight," he said. "And neither is he fit to be called above an animal."

Arelenne lifted her chin defiantly. "Noble words for a Roman," she said. "It is your people that have had plenty of practice with torture and ridicule have you not enslaved countless nations before us?"

The captain did not answer for a long moment, his brow furrowed in thought. Arthur knew what his rank called upon him to do, but likewise did his heart war with his station.

"I am not my people," he said finally, and moved past Arelenne back into the direction of the crowd.

He unsheathed Excalibur as he went, holding a hand up when Tristan made to follow.

Arthur returned to see the man snarling and crying out in his own tongue as the villagers pelted him with a rain of stones, and a cry went up among them when the knight cut his bonds.

"A captain releasing an enemy of Rome?" cried one villager. "What devilry is this?"

Arthur pulled the Woad to his feet and pointed Excalibur in the villager's face. "He is not an enemy right now he is just a man who is broken and bleeding," he said, and as he spoke he realized his words rang true. This was not the man who slew his mother, and it was not right that he should turn away from any who needed his aid.

Roman, Briton, Sarmatian they were all equals under the eyes of God. Had Pelagius not taught him this? Had his father not taught him this? Bolstered by the revelation, he lifted his chin.

"Stand aside," he said.

"Rome will hear of this," shouted the man angrily. "You put our village in great peril by releasing him!"

"When next you capture a prisoner, either kill him or free him," Arthur said. "If I catch any of you doing this again I shall break you as you broke him."

And he put the man's arm about his shoulders and helped him limp to where his knights stood watching. They were not cruel boys but they also did not see beyond the rules of war; they did not understand Arthur's actions.

"Bedivere, fetch a horse from the stable," Arthur bade the closest one, and the boy set off at a run to do so.

The captain stood quietly as he watched the villagers disperse from the fire, meeting the gaze of the man who had spoken against him.

"I will not see any of you do this," said Arthur to the lads. "You are knights who now fight for honor and justice, and there is no greater insult than to torture a helpless man."

"They would do that and worse to us," spoke up Bors. "How would you have us act?"

Arthur shook his head. "Let the dishonorable do what they must; no man may take your honor save yourself," he said. "Live and die by a code and your life will have meaning."

Bedivere came with the horse then, and Arthur helped the Woad onto it. "When we meet on the battlefield, you are my enemy," he said to him. "But now you are simply a wounded man whom I have given aid to. Ride hard and swift, friend of the earth."

The Woad looked at Arthur and nodded sharply, speaking soft words in his own tongue. Then he dug his cloth wound heels into the horse's side and disappeared into the night.


	4. You are a good man

Later on in the evening, the knights sat round several tables at the tavern. They sat in various clusters, save for Arthur who was alone.

"Do you think that that was what he wanted us to see?" asked Percival of Tristan. "He said earlier that he wanted us to open our eyes."

Tristan looked thoughtfully across the room, watching as Arthur brooded into his mug. "Perhaps, though I think it was a surprise to him as much as us," he said. "He seems a good man, but he is slowly learning that reports are far different from first hand experience."

"He's just a boy," said Arelenne as she came up to them, sitting down with a foaming tankard. "He's more lost than we are just listen to him speak of his precious ideals."

Percival looked down into his mug. "I thought he sounded rather right," he said. "Justice isn't a word Romans use too often."

Lancelot snorted into his mug. "Well why don't you go ask him, then?" he said. "I'm sure he'd be happy to enlighten you."

Percival's eyes narrowed and he scraped his chair back as he stood. Arelenne was the same age as he, and often her condescension grated Tristan was not so young as they, and he hardly treated him thus.

"I shall," he said to Lancelot, and went to Arthur's table.

"Might I sit, my lord?"

Arthur looked up to see the tawny haired lad hovering above him, then nodded as the boy asked to sit.

Percival looked thoughtful as he sat down, and Arthur smiled wryly. "What seems to be the problem?" he asked.

"A discussion, sir," the knight replied. "About the Woad you freed."

I should've expected this, Arthur thought inwardly, and nodded. "What of it?"

"You spoke before of opening our eyes, of showing us something that we hadn't seen before," Percival said. "Was this what you wanted us to see?"

Arthur sighed. "Reports had come to me prior," he admitted. "And I sought to stop it when I came here. I thought…" It would be easier to free one of the race who slew my mother.

He was silent for a while, gathering himself. "I thought to put an end to it, and I myself almost lost my way," he said. I did not know the sight of him would cause me such anger. "I have my own code, as I have said, and wished to carry it out. I came fairly close to walking away, to failing. A man suffered because I did not have the courage to do what was right."

Percival frowned. "He suffered for bare minutes before you returned," he said. "Surely that does not count as failure?"

"We warriors know how important even seconds can be," said Arthur. "I hesitated, and I can only thank God that they did not kill him while I did so. For good or for ill a wavering knight is worst of all."

The youth nodded somberly; well he understood his captain's words and he knew that they rang true.

For a time they drank in silence, though Percival did not reach the bottom of his mug.

"You are a good man," he said at length, then took his leave.


	5. Desperate Attempts

The next two days passed swiftly in the same manner, Arthur taking them around the various villages that littered southern Briton. When they saw wrongs, they righted it. When they saw injustice, they came forth to challenge those who inflicted it.

It was a learning experience for the knights, and Arthur most of all. For the captain swiftly learned that his ideals were most strained when put to the test of reality, and only with his Lord's help and his father's memory did he remain on his chosen path.

For the part of his men, they found that Arthur was easy to like and soon realized that they had found a leader worth fighting for. Even Lancelot, the arrogant and most thoughtless of the lads, respected him.

Only prideful Arelenne resisted, forcing herself to turn a blind eye to whatever good Arthur did. She maintained her bias and sought to bend the ear of her fellows, ever searching for a chance to make good her wager.

Arthur was in many ways her opposite modest while he blustered, allowing himself to be ridiculed if it meant saving another from harm. The knight did not understand it, and as such did not trust it.

No man could truly be so pure of heart, and certainly no Roman. Arthur had an ulterior motive Arelenne was sure of this.

Her mind raced as she donned her armor on the third and final day of her wager, the large breastplate banging against her torso. She knew she had been made the lesser man by Arthur's actions, and her time was running out. The man had obviously no intention of resigning his commission, no matter all the effort Arelenne took to alternately humiliate him or hurt him in front of the knights.

One morning he had filled Arthur's boots with fiery ants whilst he slept, but the man simply shook them out when he woke. He had been bitten by some and manfully bore the little hurt, and Arelenne did not miss the glares she received from Percival and Galahad.

The same afternoon she had "accidentally" trod her huge horse in a large puddle of mud, splashing all who rode beside her. She had succeeded in soaking Arthur in the filth, though the knights who were wet alongside of him were none too pleased. Arthur, on the other hand, simply took off his helm and dried his hair as best he could. "No harm done," he had said mildly, and had the gall to ruffle Arelenne's blonde head.

The third and final trick at midnight had been her most desperate yet. Arthur had gone to the bathing tent with his washbasin, and Arelenne saw her chance. She took three of the knights' horses and brought them just outside the tent, luring them with lumps of sugar that he had stolen. They sniffed and whuffed happily, chewing on the treats.

And then he had set their tails on fire.

The resulting stampede had torn down the small tent, awoken all the knights to the commotion, and had Arthur running for his life in aught but his pants.

Arelenne had thought she had broken him then, but she realized her mistake when she saw the horses turn and come stampeding for her. Arthur had turned from his path away when he realized he was heading opposite the well, and as such doubled back towards Arelenne. The horses followed him of course, and the commander yelled at the youth to run.

Faced with three fully grown horses (not to mention the sight of a half-naked man), Arelenne had stood frozen to the spot. Arthur had had to grab her by her collar and drag her behind as they ran, and had most likely saved her life.

When they reached the well, the other knights had already been running behind them with buckets of water, and they doused the horses with it to cool them down. Unfortunately, it also splashed unto both Arthur and Lancelot, and they were both left shivering in the freezing air.

Dagonet came to drape a cloak about Arthur's shoulders and he glared at Arelenne as he did so. Gawain, Tristan, and Galahad who were the owners of the horses likewise glared fiercely at her; their steads neighing in pain and fear.

Even Bors looked disgusted.

"How could you be so thoughtless?" asked Percival as he passed her, running to catch up with Arthur. "He could've been killed."

Lancelot had not answered, but she caught Arthur's eye as they walked past her. It was not filled with anger or resent as she thought, but rather with sadness and a vague disappointment.

Somehow it made her feel even worse, and strengthened her resolve to be rid of him tenfold. She could not stand to be under allegiance to any man, much less one that actually deserved it!

Shaking her head from her thoughts, she grabbed Gawain as he passed her, gloved hands clamping vice liked on the other's forearm. "We need to talk," she hissed.

The other lad looked at her with mild annoyance. "About what?" he asked, bending to tighten his boot laces.

"About Arthur," whispered Arelenne fiercely. "We cannot let him win this wager I should die before seeing this man as my captain for fifteen years hence!"

Gawain sighed. "You have damaged my horse and made a fool out of yourself so many times already," he said. "I care not for your petty wager, and it makes no difference besides. We fulfill the years the Romans have asked of us and Arthur seems bearable enough at least."

"Two days ago you were rallying with me!" cried Arelenne. "How can you say this now?"

"Two days ago I did not yet know him," replied Gawain. "I am forced to think more clearly now that he has made his point we must spend fifteen years in Rome's service, and whether we spend it miserably is entirely up to us."

Arelenne was unimpressed. "So you won't help me?" she asked.

Gawain shrugged. "I don't think so, no," he said, and went off to gather his horse.

Arelenne rounded upon the other knights threatening, cajoling, wheedling but found none among them willing to help. Bedivere, Kay, Hector, Tristan all had shaken their heads.

Bors, who had been his staunchest ally previously, likewise declined. "He's as silver tongued as they come," he had explained. "Seems like a decent sort, actually."

And so Lancelot had sworn and stamped her foot, swearing that they would all be sorry once her plot had been realized.

It was only at noon that they realized she had gone missing, for no one thought to inquire after her, as irked as they were. Only Arthur, sharp as ever, had seen fit to count her gone amongst his twenty four knights, and looked for her.

"She is sulking," offered Tristan. "You should let her be for he will return by suppertime of that I am certain."

But Arelenne did not return by suppertime, and Arthur declared that he would go out to look for her. The other knights, knowing that it would most likely be another of Arelenne's's idiot games, wanted no part of it.

"Leave her," said Gawain. "She is not worth your trouble."

But Arthur frowned. "She is your kin and my knight," he said. "I would not leave her when she might need aid anymore than I would any of you."

He turned then to the rest of them. "Will no one go with me?" he asked.

The knights looked down at their feet and did not meet his eyes, and when Percival saw this he raised his hand. "I shall go, my lord," he said and Tristan beside him laid a hand on his arm.

"We both shall," he corrected.


	6. It seems you’ve been caught in a lie

Arelenne crept in the shadows of the far side of the forest, a slow smile spreading across her lovely face. She knew that it would be only a matter of time before Arthur came looking for his errant knight, and she would use the man's quality to her advantage.

She had paid a villager to find and deliver false news to her captain when full dark arrived, false news that told of Arelenne's running away into the wild north. She had been waiting an hour already since supper, perched as she was on a tree that gave her view of the heavy wooden gates.

Presently she spied Arthur's form atop his handsome steed, riding for the gate at a swift trot. With him were three others two knights that she could not recognize from afar as well as the man she had paid off.

Arelenne bit her lip, watching as Arthur motioned the guards to raise the gates, raising his voice when they refused to do so. The knight had not accounted for the fact that Arthur would bring his men, and she wavered suddenly when she realized that their following him would likewise mean their certain death.

Color rising in her face, Arelenne dropped down from the high branch and began her downward climb. She did not wish the death of her brothers in arms to pay for her pride, and would seek to rectify the situation immediately.

She could hear Arthur unsheathing Excalibur more than she saw him do so, and she made swiftly for the forest's edge. It was Percival and Tristan who accompanied her captain, she saw, and just as she opened her mouth to call to them a blade pressed upon her throat.

"Do not move," whispered a heavily accented voice behind her. "Or you will die."

"One of my knights has gone into the north and I must retrieve her," Arthur said, voice rising. "You will open this gate or I shall do it myself!"

The soldier lifted his chin. "The gates don't open after dark," he said. "Not for your knights, not for captains, and not even for the pope himself. And by the why, no one passed through my gate today, much less any of your precious girls."

Arthur unsheathed Excalibur in a swift motion, getting down from his horse and looming over the soldier. "Open. The gate," he said.

"No," said the soldier, standing his ground. "I won't let you endanger the whole of this territory for the sake of one girl!"

That statement drew Arthur up short, for he found that he had no reply for it. Tristan had meanwhile paid close attention to both soldier and villager, and he grabbed the latter by the scruff of his neck.

"You said he passed through the gate into the north," he said, slowly edging his hand toward his blade. "It seems you've been caught in your lie, my friend."

Both Percival and Arthur turned to the man at the same time, and the captain took him by the collar of his shirt. Tristan held his arms behind him, his grip vice like and painful. "What have you done with Arelenne," he asked, softly and dangerously.

Arthur's gaze was dark, and there was something quite terrible that shone in his eyes. "Speak," he said.

And trembling, the man told all he knew.


	7. The blood is still wet

"She said he would watch right here," said the villager helplessly, pointing at the tree Arelenne had been perched in just moments before. "She said she wanted to watch when she finally got rid of you!"

Tristan spat in disgust at the revelation, turning to Arthur with abject distaste. "The whelp probably ran off when she saw you did not fall for her scheme," he said. "Let us not waste any more time on her games, my lord. We should just hope that she does not come back."

"I do not believe she would be so cruel," said Arthur, but there was much hesitation whilst he said this. "Perhaps she merely sought to…"

"Sought to what?" cried Tristan. "She tried to get you killed! Even we knights do not venture past the walls when it is dark; what hope would a man who has been here for mere days have?"

Some feet away, Percival was crouched low and peered at something intently in the dark. "Enough, Tristan," he bade his friend, beckoning them forth urgently. "I think Arelenne may be in trouble."

He straightened then, a torn bit of the blonde hair in one hand and the broken blade of a Woad in the other.

Arthur swore softly under his breath as he stared at the items, bidding the villager return to the barracks and call his knights to him. The man lost no time in doing so eager as he was to regain good favor and was soon on his horse and disappearing over a small hill.

In the meantime Arthur turned to Tristan, saying that they three should search for the tracks leading away.

"The blood is still wet," said Arthur, fingering Arelenne's hair. "They cannot have gotten far."

They looked for broken bits of branches and crushed leaves, and sure enough it was Tristan who found the trail. "They were dragging her," he said, pointing out the disturbance. "It looked like she might've been unconscious."

"Or dead," fretted Percival, and Tristan had the grace to look ashamed.

"She is not dead," said Arthur in no uncertain terms, and whistled for their horses to attend them. "We will be faster than they on foot; we can still catch them."

They mounted their horses and Tristan took the lead, Arthur taking the last post. He did not know what the forest hid at night, and he did not wish to risk another youth taken from his charge.

Thus they rode, quietly and swiftly in the darkness, for long minutes. The underbrush was thick and they traveled only by the light of the moon, and it was by Tristan's skill only that they did not get lost.

Presently they came to the edges of what seemed to be a small campfire, smoke curling from beyond the cradle of trees.

Tristan rode back to them and motioned for quiet, the three knights dismounting from their horses. "Woads," he whispered, once they had come closer together. "I see them and I smell their meat roasting on a spit."

"How many?" asked Arthur. "Can we go round them?"

But Tristan shook his head. "Arelenne is by the fire; she isn't moving," he said. "This is where we must be fighting against more than two dozen Woads."

Arthur's mouth twisted. "We cannot defeat them and we cannot spirit him away; they know the forest far too well for that," he said.

"We should leave and come back with the other knights," Tristan said. "I can find my way back to this place, but the others would be lost without a guide."

"We cannot risk leaving Arelenne here lest they kill her," said Arthur, shaking his head. "We have only one alternative."

"And what is that, my lord?" asked Percival, who had been quiet thus far. "Shall we stage a rescue here and now?"

Arthur shook his head. "I shall wait here while you two collect our forces," he said. "If they move to slay her I shall create a distraction and hopefully hold them off til you arrive."

"The risk is too great," said Percival. "They will kill you if they catch you!"

"You have your orders," Arthur said. "Carry them out and fear not for Arelenne and I. The Lord shall protect us."

Tristan looked to argue but his captain's tone brooked no argument. "Very well," he said, shaking his head.

He made his way with Percival back from whence they came, riding their horses as quickly as they dared. They feared for their brother no matter his inexplicable lack of judgment, and for their captain's life also. They did not wish either of them to fall.

Arthur meanwhile crouched low upon the earth, moving quietly closer to the camp. The Woads were chanting in their odd tongue, roasting meat from a spit and keeping fiercesome guard.

Arelenne had been tied securely with thick vines, a cut above her eye flowing freely. Arthur worried for her for a moment, then realized that the young knight had begun to stir.


	8. Dying alongside an honorable man

Arelenne moaned slightly as she woke, the heat of the fire warming her face unpleasantly. There was a stinging pain on her face and a pool of blood on the earth where she lay, and she remembered in a rush that which she had caused.

"Arthur," she murmured in quiet repentance, hoping against hope that her captain had not gone into the wild north.

There were Woads around her, closer and more in number than she had ever seen before. The youth bit her lip to keep from crying out, for the panic rose in her throat more quickly than she could keep it.

A painted face turned toward her, and belatedly she shut her eyes and feigned sleep. The charade was over however, as a rough hand took her by her long blonde hair and raised her to a sitting position.

Rapid words were exchanged between the Woads, what sounded like an argument breaking out among them. From what little Arelenne knew of their language, she figured that they were deciding if they should ransom her or just kill her outright.

More heated words followed until one of the larger savages thrust a wicked knife into the earth. He whispered menacingly to the Woad who held Arelenne, and the other held up his hands in defeat.

Laughing, the large savage took Arelenne from him and held her face very close to the campfire, so close that the knight could feel her eyes heat even as she shut them.

A knife pressed against her throat and she knew then, without a doubt, that she was going to die.

The youth bit her lip til it bled, swearing that she would not cry out. She was a knight of Sarmatia to the end, and she would not give these beasts the satisfaction of hearing her scream. The knife dug into her throat, blood pooling and hissing as it dripped into the fire. A slow death, a painful death, a death unfitting that of a warrior. Arelenne braced himself for the swift cut that would end her life.

It never came.

For from the darkness and mist came a sight that she'd never thought she'd see again; Artorius Castus, striding towards her like some warrior God of old. He was backlit by the campfires and twisted in holy anger, his long sword cleaving a wide arc through the Woads that came to stop him.

The large Woad that had been holding Arelenne dropped her abruptly, stooping to get a great axe from the ground. He met Arthur's charge as the captain leapt over the flames, not giving a single inch of ground.

Sword and axe met again and again, steel resounding loudly throughout the forest. Arelenne rolled backwards to avoid being crushed underfoot, and though her hands were tied she struggled to sit up, to help, to do something.

It was a terrible, deadly dance that the Woad and her captain performed, and when Arthur received a stinging cut across his left arm, Arelenne feared the worst.

"Arthur," she cried out, as the man fell to one knee.

The Woad raised his axe above his head in a sweeping arc, the chants of his fellows rising around him like a fevered drum. It came crashing down as Arthur threw himself to the side, leaping up from the ground and cutting the Woad across his exposed chest.

Blood spurted from the wound and Arthur bared his teeth, wolf like in the dancing flame. It was in this moment that Arelenne at last saw what the other knights had seen days before he was a man and not a boy, tall and strong a true warrior who would not let his comrade fall.

Thus he brought his blade up and through the Woad, bracing his leg against his chest to remove the half buried sword. Arthur crouched low and braced himself, holding his sword at the ready.

The other Woads were furious at their champion's death, and thus advanced all at once against him, ignoring Arelenne who still lay tied on the ground.

They fell upon him like animals on the hunt, a cut blossoming on Arthur's cheek and blood flowing free from his leg, but still he fought against the savages. Woads bit and hissed and spat, thrusting their spears into any part of him that they could see. A lesser man would've left Lancelot to die long ago, but Arthur would have none of it.

He fought to his knight's side, leaving a swath of littered bodies in his wake. "Lancelot," he cried, cutting her bonds with a swift stroke. "Take up your sword!"

And Arelenne, freed at last, spurred into action and took up a blade from a fallen Woad. She pressed her back against Arthur's and guarded his flank, ever watchful of the treachery of the forest folk. Her forehead flamed but still he pressed on, ignoring all that existed but sword and man, all other sounds falling dimly into the night.

They fought like this, just the two of them, for what seemed an age. Arelenne thought all was lost, surrounded by Woads and fighting at Arthur's side, and realized there were far worse ends that she could think of.

Dying alongside an honorable man, she thought.

Then light shone brightly upon them, the flicker of torches held high basking their faces, and the sounds of a battle coming to their ears.

It was Dagonet that came, striding tall with his broadsword and the rest of the knights, and together they pushed back the Woads. Finally their ranks thinned, and only when he saw them flee did Arthur fall to one knee, the multitude of wounds draining his strength.

"How do you fare, Arelenne t?" he asked, when the knight quickly grasped his arm.

"I have not been greatly injured," whispered the blonde, unusual tears filled her eyes. "I did not mean for this to happen."

But Arthur did not reply for he slipped into darkness, and Dagonet and Bors came to take him from Arelenne's arms. Gawain pulled the young knight gently to her feet, not meeting her eyes.

"I did not mean for this to happen," said Arelenne again, sick with shame.

"It matters not," called Dagonet sternly from up ahead. "You are both alive and you will mend; save your apologies for when he wakes."

His manner was rough but his words were not unkind, and Arelenne was grateful for them. Her head bowed low, she trailed behind the other knights as they rode swiftly back to camp.


	9. First Knights

Arthur had sustained many wounds during his battle with the Woads, but while none of them were fatal, all of them in number were quite grave. It was on the fifth day of his recovery that the doctor allowed him to sit up and receive his knights, and he smiled when he saw Tristan and Percival alive and well.

He spoke and exchanged pleasantries with each of them, conversing at length with Dagonet who gave him a full account of his rescue.

"It is well that you arrived when you did," Arthur said to him, solemnly clasping his hand. "I did not know how long I could hold the line."

And the knight inclined his head, saying nothing. There were no words to say, and he knew that his captain understood.

After he stepped back, Arthur's brows drew together. He had spoken to twenty three knights, but where was the one who he had feared for the most?

"Tell me," he said to Bors. "Where is Arelenne? Is she injured still?"

But before the knight could answer, a small voice sounded from the back. "I am here," came Arelenne's soft voice, and the men parted for her to pass. The knight had feared to be reprimanded, to be sent home, to be chastised and thrown in prison, for she knew that she deserved all of this and more.

Great was her surprise when Arthur smiled when he saw her, a broad grin lighting up his entire face. "Glad I am that you are well," he said, clasping Arelenne by the shoulder. "I would hate to think that I am in this bed for naught."

And the girl turned crimson and hid her face, for her shame was twofold now that Arthur did not even utter a cruel word in reprimand.

"My lord," she said, and her voice stuck in his throat.

Percival came up behind her and laid a hand on her arm, and the knight took a deep breath and began again.

"There is a wager to be settled, is there not?" asked Arelenne, and Arthur looked at him uncomprehendingly.

"If you still wish my resignation, I shall do so," he said, and there was such hurt in his eyes that Arelenne could almost not bare to look.

But the young knight squared her shoulders and went down upon one knee before her captain, her head bowed against the hilt of her sword.

"Artorius Castus, Captain of Rome," she said. "If by my life or death I can serve you, I will gladly give up both in your name. By my honor, I pledge my service and loyalty to you… for fifteen years and beyond."

The knights around her likewise murmured the words, bending their knees and laying their heads upon their swords. It was in Rome's service that they came to Briton, but it was by their honor that they pledged themselves to Arthur's company.

"My brave knights," Arthur said, all but rendered speechless at the sight.

He struggled up and clasped each of their hands to his heart in turn, accepting their oaths and making his own towards them.

"My first knight," he said when he came to Arelenne, and it was none but her hand that he clasped the hardest, none but her hand the he held on to the longest.

The knights beat their arms across their chests and stamped their feet, making such a noise that was heard throughout all the land. They were brothers then, siblings by choice rather than blood, and their legends would last throughout all of the ages to come.

Thus began the company of Arthur and his knights, but the first step into a journey of fifteen long years.


End file.
